The ones we think are strongest are always hurting the most inside
by catofawesomeness
Summary: A sister fic to Why me? Al (2p America) starts cutting. What happens when his family finds out? What do they do to try and help? A 2p FACE fic. This story is not interdependent on Why me? But is closely related to it since they both deal with depressed!Allen. Rated T for cutting and possible suicide in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, this fic is an idea I've had floating around since Chapter ten of Why me? It's not really related to Why me? As it deals with a totally different issue. It deals with Self harm It's basically what I think would happen if Al cut himself. I know it's not a pleasant thing to think about. I hate thinking about it too, but it's just something I'd like to get out there. It's kind of a sister fic to Why me? They're not interdependent, but they go together. **

******I don't own Hetalia.**

Al was walking home after a late-late kill. It was four in the morning, and he was running as fast as he could. Why? Because his bat fucking broke. It. Fucking. Broke. Al could defend himself fairly well, but there were a lot of people out for his blood. He knew they were waiting. They were always waiting. _'How the hell did I break a solid wooden baseball bat?'_ Al asks himself as he runs down the street, hoping not to run into anyone who wants him dead. _'Maybe it was the nails?'_ He ran down the dark streets, and someone noticed.

Ion _hated_ Al with the fiery burning passion of a thousand suns. Yes, Ion (Russia) Hated Al. He was standing in his favorite alleyway, just standing there and thinking, when he saw Al running past, without his bat which Ion thought weird. But who in their right mind (Or not, depending on how you look at it) would pass up an opportunity like this? Ion hid in the shadows, and waited for Al to run past. Oh, tonight would be fun!

Al was running past an alleyway, when an arm shot out and grabbed him by the throat, he thrashed out, trying to kick or punch or elbow the other person, but it was no use. He was pulled into the alleyway and pushed to the ground. He was dazed for a second but when he broke out of it, Ion was straddling his waist, with his elbows pinned under Ion's knees, and his hands around Al's throat. Al gasped for air, and tried to get loose, and don't get me wrong. Allan F. Jones is a fucking strong person. He could easily pick the two of us combined and throw us across a room. But, Ion could pick up you, me, and my entire family combined (which is impressive. My parents have some erm… overeating issues. They're in their fifties and they don't give a fuck anymore…) and throw us all across a room. That's how strong he is. So, as much as Al struggled, he still couldn't get lose. Ion punched him in the face a few times, giving him a shiner and a big bruise on one cheek, as well as a good number of gashes along his face from those damn rings he wears. Then he started the verbal assault which was just as bad, if not worse than the physical.

"You really are a pathetic bastard. You ugly asshole. You slimy fatass motherfucking dickwad. You don't even deserve to be alive. I should just kill you now. Society would thank me, you worthless whore." Al wasn't sure where this was all coming from. Ion was usually a very quiet guy, preferring to glare at Al from across the meeting room, causing Oliver, Matt and Francis to take out their weapons and threaten to beat him to a bloody pulp. He never liked it when people hated him, but Al was an exception. Ion hated his guts and didn't care if Al hated him back or not. He never tried to hurt anyone else, but wouldn't hesitate to hurt Al any chance he got. But anyway, back to Al. Al spit in his face, Ion grabbed his neck again, squeezing as if his life depended on it. Al gasped, coughing and choking. He struggled, writing and twisting, trying to get his elbows out from under Ion's knees. But it was no use. Ion let go of his throat, just as he was beginning to lose consciousness. "Now, as I was saying," Ion continued, but right then, Al had figured out one thing he could do to get this bastard off him. He kneed him in the ass, sending him forward; head hitting the concrete right above Al's head. Al got up and ran for his life. He was out of the alleyway and maybe 100 yards from home when he felt the knife embed itself in his back. Not very many people know this, but Ion carries throwing knives around with him. Luciano taught him to throw and his aim was deadly. The knife embedded itself in Al's back and he gasped in pain, but kept running, Ion still chasing him, ignoring the searing pain coming from the blade embedded in his flesh and the feeling of his blood running down his back. He made it home, and threw the door closed and locked it. He ran toward the bedrooms to look for his backup bat and managed to make it to his room and grab the bat when the front door flung off its hinges. The noise woke Oliver, Matt, and Francis, who came out of their rooms to see Ion running up the stairs, and Al holding his backup bat with a knife embedded in his back, and bruises all along his face and neck. Ion made it up the stairs and Al swung, bat hitting its target's head, nails tearing flesh, but not knocking Ion unconscious. Ion stood and kicked Al in the ribs, breaking three of them. By this time, Oliver had his arsenal of knives out, pink rings of Hell and scariness swirling in his eyes. (Yes, I really did just call them that.) Matt had his hokey stick covered in razor wire. He had several. One with barbed wire, one with razor wire, one with a sharpened edge, as well as several others made into weapons. Francis was holding an AR-15 assault rifle, with two others on his back and a package of ammo hanging from his waist. Ion looked at the family for a moment before disappearing down the stairs and into the night. The effects of the adrenaline rush wore of, and Al dropped the bat, sinking to his knees.

"Al!" Oliver called, dropping down next to him. He flinched upon seeing the knife in his brother's back. "What happened?" Matt asked "Did you have a run in with him _and _Luciano?" Al shook his head, breathing hard "Just Ion *pant pant* he *pant* had his knives *pant pant* Luciano *pant* taught him to throw *pant, pant pant* A couple years back." Al said through heavy breaths. Oliver helped him stand. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up a bit." He took Al to the upstairs bathroom where they kept the first aid kit. Matt and Francis followed.

Oliver helped him sit down gingerly on the side of the bathtub, and turned him to one side so Matt could get the knife out. Matt has the most medical experience out of any of them, so they usually trusted him to fix them up when they came home beat the fuck up and bleeding everywhere. Matt grabbed the scissors and cut the shirt off of his brother. Al was lucky he hadn't been wearing his jacket that day. Matt then reached into the first aid kit and grabbed an alcohol swab, and gently cleaned the area around the stab. Al bit his lip in pain, but stayed still. Then he said "I'm going to pull it out, and it's going to hurt like hell. Al nodded, and his brother pulled the knife out of his back with a swift, sharp tug. He cried out in pain, and swore for a while, but managed to hold it together, as Matt passed the knife to Francis who put it on the countertop. Matt then cleaned the wound with more alcohol and grabbed a needle and thread (The kind used to stich up a wound. Not the kind for sewing.) He stitched the cut closed which he knew had to hurt, but Al didn't do anything other than bite his lip till it bleed. They then moved on to his broken ribs. Matt did what he could for them, but they would have to heal on their own, for his face, they just put alcohol on the gashes left by the rings, and bandaged the worst of them, but they left most of them alone.

Oliver helped him up and helped him to bed. Matt cleaned the bathroom up, putting the first aid kit back and cleaning up some of the blood. He accidentally left the knife on the countertop where Francis put it though. He put everything away and went to bed after changing his cloths which were covered in Al's blood. He dropped them down the laundry chute, and went to bed. He couldn't help but wonder what Al had ever done to make Ion hate him so much. Then he realized what it was. Nothing. Al had done nothing to make Ion hate him like that. Ion just hated him. Matt had never been sure why. As far as he knew, Al had never done anything to Ion, but he wouldn't wonder about it for too much longer. After maybe twenty minutes, he feel into a restless sleep.

Al fell asleep the second Oliver settled him into his bed, he was sore all over and felt like shit. He needed rest. But what even Al didn't know yet was that these physical wounds were the least of his worries. There was no telling when he would find out, but he had much worse than physical stab wounds and bruises. Something deep inside him was hurt when Ion said those words. But he didn't know it yet, and wouldn't know it until later, when the damage was too much to repair on his own.

Al woke up the next day to realize two things. One, he was fucking starving and Two, the stab wound in his back had reopened, and was bleeding through the bandage. He stood up and started walking downstairs to find his brother to fix it. Matt was sitting at the table, with a cup of coffee when Al got down there.

"Hey, Matt." He said, Matt ignored him. But, then again, wouldn't it be a lot more fun to see how Matt would react when he figured it out on his own. He shrugged, and grabbed some vegan eggs and bacon Oliver had prepared beforehand. He sat down next to his brother. And started eating silently. Matt glanced up, finally, after about ten minutes of completely ignoring his brother to see him calmly eating vegan bacon and eggs with… was that blood? Yes, it was blood, and it was all over his back. His eyes widened. "Al, what the fuck happened." He asked, "Hmm? Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you, I must have fucked it up last night, because it reopened." Al said _way_ too casually. Matt sighed, and told his idiot of a brother to go get the first aid kit so he could stitch up and bandage his back. Al stood up and walked to the bathroom, blood dripping down his back and onto the floor. When he was getting the first aid kit though, he saw the knife that stabbed him still lying on the counter top, covered in his dried blood. He's still not sure what made him pick that knife up and hide it in his room before going downstairs and giving Matt the first aid kit. He took his shirt off and sat down, back facing his brother. He bit his lip as Matt started sewing the cut up again. Oliver walked in to see Al, shirtless at the kitchen table, his shirt, covered in blood in a chair and Matt with the first aid kit open, stitching up his back. "Oh, God, Al!" Oliver said, walking over to him and looking him over. "What happened?" "It reopened last night." Al said, biting his lip again when the needle inserted itself in his back yet again. Oliver sighed and grabbed Al's shirt and went to wash it. While Matt was stitching up the cut, Francis walked in, his eyes widened when he saw Matt with the first aid kit and hands covered in blood again. Al saw his expression and said "It reopened last night." Francis nodded, and grabbed breakfast, he sat next to the brothers in total silence, noming on his food.

Oliver made Al stay home, and intended to keep him home for the next few days, saying that Ion could be waiting out there, and he was in no condition to be fighting with a stab wound in his back and yadda yadda yadda. Al agreed, and Matt stayed home with him to make sure Ion didn't try anything. Nothing very eventful happened that day, the brothers mostly just sat around and talked the whole time. Ion never showed up, but they were both still uneasy. Both of them had their weapons nearby in case something did happen. Oliver and Francis got home at around six. Oliver made dinner and after dinner and a shower, Matt changed Al's bandages. Al went to bed early again, saying he was still sore. He waited until the others had gone to bed, and waited another three hours for them to fall asleep, before he grabbed the knife and started to study it. It had the initials I.B in the handle and Нож смерти in the blade. It really was a beautiful knife, not that he would ever say that to Ion's face. He went to the restroom with the knife and washed it off in the sink before going back to his room and storing the knife in his desk drawer. He would find a use for it later.

**Wow, the things we write when we're having a shit day, huh? I think I'll continue this one too. It'll be way different from Why me? Though. Why? Because I know more about self-harm than I do about eating disorders. That's why. **


	2. Chapter 2

**This story has been sitting on my desktop half worked on for a while. Why hasn't it been updated? Because I'm busy. And lazy. But mostly busy. I hope you guys like this one and I hope it's long enough. **

******I don't own Hetalia.**

Oliver made Al stay home for quite a while, saying that he was in no state to be moving around with those injuries. It was usually Matt who stayed at home with him. The problem was that Oliver and Francis had seen Ion lurking the area around the house more and more often. It scared them. They had no idea what Ion might try to do to Al and after last time, they didn't want to take chances that he would try to kill Al. While he was still healing, Al kept his baseball bat close by him at all times, just in case something did happen, and he needed to defend himself until a family member could step in and help. Oliver had gotten him another bat and he had hammered more nails into it, and turned the new one into his backup bat. He was scared, although he wouldn't admit it to save his life, he was scared. Matt could tell he was scared. He could see it in his brother's eyes. After having spent over two hundred years knowing Al, he could easily tell when he was scared. Matt would stay up with him late into the night, because he couldn't sleep. Al had taken stabs, slashes, and bruises many times before, however. And this time was no different. He would just have to be more careful this time. However, he didn't know what was in store for him. He couldn't have known what was going to happen within the next few weeks or how painful it would be when it hit him. Like an eighteen wheeler on the highway.

Al had a busy day that day. He had to make ten kills in total. It was a very busy day. He didn't expect to be home any earlier than two in the morning. Probably later, depending on the kills. He managed to make six kills before he even had lunch. This was definitely a new record. Maybe he could manage to be home before dinner? He hoped so. But he could never be sure, and he expected these next four kills to be the toughest of them. One of the men was known for being absolutely paranoid, so Al was going to have to fuck around with the electrical grid and shut down his extensive security system before making a move. He planned to do that one next, while he still had some strength in him.

After some snapped wires, and some smashed in heads, Al was ready to make the real kill. He kicked the back door in, expecting to find the man huddled in a corner in the basement or something similar. He had not, however, been expecting a group of ten of the biggest men he had ever seen, all armed, and seemingly waiting for him. He braced himself.

_'Nope.' _He thought _'I'm not going to be home for dinner this time. Hope Ollie doesn't worry too much.'_

He was smacked in the head with something blunt. He feel hard, vision going grey and blurry. He did not, however, drop his bat. Experience had taught him to never, ever drop the weapon. No matter the circumstances. He rolled over, avoiding another blow from the… was that a _bowling pin_ the guy was holding? Yep, it was a bowling pin, and it was covered in blood. His blood he realized, as one hand went to the side of his head. Well, no matter. Head wounds always bleed more than anything else anyway. They almost always look worse than they actually are. He knew that from experience. Too much experience. He dodged another hit, and swung the bat. Blood spattered the walls as the man fell. One down nine to go. Then, he heard a click as a gun cocked. His eyes widened.

"Drop. The bat. Right. Now. Or so help me God, I will shoot you." A voice threatened, sounding panicky and tired, although determined.

Al didn't feel a barrel of a gun against his head, which meant no easy self defense. It probably meant the guy was a good distance from him, meaning he couldn't hit or kick the gun from his hand, and beat the shit out of him, which was normal for Al. He let the bat fall from his hand in a spatter of blood. The men crept closer. Al smirked. He ran. He heard a gun go off, but the bullet missed him. He heard a scream, but kept running. Maybe it wasn't the best thing he could have done, but he wasn't going to let those bastards get a hold of him. Not over his dead body. He ran down the street again, unaware that the group of paranoid men were not the only ones watching all this go down.

Ion watched Al run from the house and down the street, jumping in his truck. Ion was no stalker. He just happened to be making a kill down the street at the same time. He ducked into the shadows, waiting. Maybe he could make something of this. He had always had urges to make Al feel pain. He always had. They were age old enemies and absolutely hated each other. He could use a scenario like this to his advantage. But, he always liked to fight fair. Especially amongst other nations. He turned his back and continued on down the street. A fair fight or no fight at all. That was what almost all nations 1p or 2p thought, and Ion was no exception to that rule. It was buried deep within them all. A part of them almost.

Al jumped into his car, ducking as he heard a gun go off. It shattered his window and sent glass shards into his side and face. He flinched and started speeding down the road. He looked in his rearview mirror. Damn paranoid bastards. He pulled into Oliver's driveway and jumped out, just to see another car pull up to the curb. His eyes went wide, and he ran inside.

Oliver was sitting in the living room, with his cat on his lap. (I accidently typed car at first. That would have been interesting…) When the door burst open and slammed shut quickly. His cat jumped off and skidded to somewhere safe, feeling danger in the air. Oliver jumped up and went to the foyer to see Al locking the door and to hear shouts from outside. He knew instantly what had happened. A kill gone wrong. That was never a good thing. He grabbed Al by the arm as guns went off and bullets shattered windows. He pulled his brother up the stairs and into Oliver's room. He then pulled out his cell phone and pressed Luciano's contact and hit the call button with his thumb. He pressed the phone to his ear as he heard the front door go down. He flinched. That would not be cheap to replace. Then, Luciano picked up.

Oliver spoke with him momentarily, offering a large sum of money in return for getting his ass saved. Luciano agreed, and was about to say he would be right over when the door to Oliver's room burst open, throwing him back into Al. He dropped the phone and gave Al a knife, as they prepared for the fight of their lives.

Luciano heard a door being thrown open and dialed Matt's number as he ran out the door. After a quick explanation, he called Francis and did the same. He knew they would both get home as fast as possible if something were really wrong. He grabbed his knives himself and ran out the door.

Oliver and Al were holding up fairly well, considering it was nine against one. They managed to finish off one assailant and Al managed to get a hold of his backup bat, which he was better at using than a knife when they heard feet on the stairs. Matt, Francis and Luciano burst into the room to see Oliver and Al cornered. They watched as Al tried to swing the bat only to have his shoulder hit with piece of rusty medal. He went flying sideways into a wall, blood seeping from the gash in his arm. Oliver stabbed the man in the throat, while Matt, Francis and Luciano took care of the others. Al got back on his feet and managed to do some harm, although not much.

After the fight was over, Matt took to tending Al's arm, Oliver started cleaning up and Francis coughed up money for Luciano who decided to help Oliver with the clean-up. After Al's arm was stitched up and bandaged, he relayed the story for his brothers and Luciano who wanted to know why he had been called for help so urgently.

"I was just expecting one guy." Al said, unreadable expression in his eyes. "Not ten. And I sure as Hell wasn't expecting them to be armed."

Luciano left once he had heard the story, and kept it in mind to keep a closer eye on Al.

But, none of them saw that Al had hidden the knife Oliver gave him at first to defend himself in his boot before going to take a shower.

Once in the shower, Al pulled the knife out of his shoe. It was very well made. Albeit small, it was razor sharp and had a plant like design in the blade. It had the initials O.K in the handle which meant Oliver made the knife himself. He sighed, and put the knife on the countertop so he would remember to put it with Ion's knife later.

**Well, things in this fic are progressing slower than the last one. I guess that's good. Well, I hope you guys like this one and I'll try to update more often. I'm getting days off of school for snow, so life is being good to me right now. And, snow days mean I don't have to freeze my ass off in soccer practice! Yay!**


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